Strangeness and Charm
by onemoresun
Summary: A note in an old book leads Kurt to the most unpredictable boy he's ever met.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, I thought I'd give this idea a shot, I hope you do too. I'd like to forever thank Jamie for helping me with everything.

I don't own Glee, but I do own the poem in this chapter and any poem to come unless stated otherwise.

Warning in the future for violence.

* * *

Kurt Hummel sipped on his grande nonfat mocha gently, the way someone savoring something might. He sipped small—yet somehow graceful—sips, as if taking a big one would burn his mouth. He loved his coffee, the way one might love a person. He also loved books, which was why he was in the library in the first place, his free hand running through the soft spines of old, new and used books.

If someone asked him what he was doing in the YA section, he would shrug the question off. He was almost seventeen and the YA section was where most seventeen year olds often hovered, but it was different for Kurt. He wasn't usually in the YA section. He liked special books, the ones that weren't read by most people, the ones that only someone who absolutely loved words found exciting and breath-taking. He liked Dickens, Swift, Shelly, Steinbeck, Twain and even the occasional Shakespeare, but only Midsummer Night's Dream. He loved the thought of falling in love without any choice, being completely off guard and mesmerized, as if under a spell.

When Kurt's finger hit a particular book, it fell over. It was hanging completely out of the crowded shelf, so any small movement would have caused it to fall out. Kurt sat his cup down and quickly grabbed the book before it had the chance to hit the ground. It was a paper back and very thin, thin like a child's grade school book. The book's name was The Giver and the cover was wounded, like the animals on the ASPCA commercials that he hated. Unlike the animals though, the book was covered in wrinkles and tears because it was, in fact, loved. He wanted to give it a shot because clearly others had before him. He clutched it tightly and kept looking, pretty sure he had just hit a gold mine with it and he hadn't even opened the cover yet.

As he walked towards the front desk of the library, he trailed his fingers along a few more spines of used books once again. He was so in depth with what his fingers were touching that he hardly even noticed when someone walked into him. It sent The Giver flying from his fingers. The smooth and somewhat warm book left his grip quickly, it was the only reason he noticed really, the loss. He looked up—down rather, to see who he had bumped into.

"Sorry," he squeaked rather breathlessly. "I wasn't paying attention."

It was an old woman; she was tiny and wore a small pair of glasses which fit perfectly on her small face. She simply smiled at him, her lips turned rightly upwards so that her eyes crinkled at the corners. Kurt smiled back, but he stopped when she bent down to retrieve his book.

"It's okay really—" he began, but he hadn't even finished speaking before the book was back in his hands again.

"I'm not that old sweetie, my back still has a little fight left in it." Her smile came back, it was such a wonderful smile, it reminded him of his grandmothers.

"Thank you," Kurt said, bashfully.

The woman said he was welcome and left quickly—she was probably busy. Kurt's eyes traveled down to the ground, where his book had landed, or rather where it had been only seconds before and in its place was a yellow sticky note.

He reached down for the unexpected piece of paper.

"Wait!" Kurt yelled, picking up the note. "Is this yours?" he asked the woman waving it a little so she could get a good view of it.

The woman turned around and squinted through the soft curls that were sprouting through the bottom of her hat like a fountain. "No, sweetie, it's not mine. It must have fallen out of that book of yours." She flashed him one last smile that warmed up the chill that had begun to settle over him.

Still in his hand was a yellow, sticky note which had long lost its stick. There was messy scrawl along it, made with a dark, blue pen, almost every other word smudged. Despite the smudging and the way the words looked like one big mess, Kurt could still read it. He didn't drop the note, he didn't ignore it, he read it, and after he read the words, he read them over and over and over again.

_Go through the woods, towards the very end,_  
_if you're lonely and looking for a friend,_  
_Go through the trees and find the largest oak,_  
_you'll know which one, it's as beautiful as a painters stroke. _  
_I've been sitting there for a while, it's a great place to be,_  
_I'm patient, but please, come find me._

His heart was beating frantically, after having read the note for the third or fourth time. He clutched the book to his chest tightly. The note didn't leave his fingers. He wouldn't let it.

He checked out his book quickly, he didn't notice the librarian survey his tapping foot and raise a thin eyebrow towards him; it caused her glasses to tip up a tad and wiggle. Kurt was too occupied by trying to keep the note and his coffee in one hand. The cup was burning his fingers, he couldn't let go at the moment. . He needed that book. He needed to go to the tree. To the oak. To _them_.

Who was _them_, anyway?

Kurt grabbed the book quickly and walked out the library doors, but not without tossing his coffee in a nearby trashcan. He ignored the swish of the liquid as it hit the empty bottom. It was weird to think he had savored the drink moments ago.

He didn't hold the door open for the person behind him, it was something he so normally did. The note though, it was so intriguing and so beautiful and mysterious. He had to take a look. He wasn't sure how patient the note writer really was, he hoped they would still be there.

And then, he was running.

He ran past people, strange looks on their faces, and past all the stupid, little shops that Lima Ohio liked to grip onto and push in people's faces. He ducked through a small, small alley and twisted through the back of a bakery that hardly sold anything hand made. He ran fast across an empty road, one that was usually vacant so he didn't have to look both ways. He was on grass then. It was damp under his boots, which made him extremely glad he was wearing them because wet socks were not something he wanted right now.

The note was so beautiful and maybe a little sad; he couldn't let it go, even if he did have damp socks he would have trudged through the forest anyway. He felt like now that he had opened the book and read the note, it was his responsibility.

He walked slowly as the grass grew taller and the church behind him grew shorter. There was something about going so far out of his usual routine that made doing this so much more fascinating.

He swerved around trees ungracefully, but uncaring. The oak, he needed to find the oak. The further he walked, the more he seemed to find everything but—even a willow that looked almost human—sad. He liked willows though, despite their droopiness, there was something about them, something magnificent. Maybe because the willow always looked like it had been through a lot of damage, with its branches and the way they all seemed to bend downwards like a waterfall of tears. It always stood tall, despite being dragged down.

He passed the willow and walked further into the trees, trying to find the so called "end" but he couldn't find it.

He turned around and looked once more, just to make sure he hadn't missed it. He saw an immense amount of oranges and browns, not as much as the beginning of fall though. Fall was nearing its end now, so the trees were starting to die. He started to worry then, maybe there was no tree. Maybe the poem was a famous one that somebody wanted to share with the person reading The Giver. Maybe they just wanted to share some beauty on paper. Just as he started to walk away, feeling defeated and maybe a little tricked, he paused when he noticed something. It was a stump without a tree.

A very large stump.

There was still some of its roots popping up from the ground and diving back under like a dolphin in water. It sprouted up almost as if it were trying to escape the ground and leave its tree, which was long gone. It must have been the oak, it had to have been. The stump was large and what was left of it was beautiful, even if there was close to nothing left. There was something about it that was still special and he just had to figure out what.

He opened up The Giver and walked over to the stump. It was damp, but not as bad as other parts of the woods. He sat down and started to read then, getting completely lost between the pages and the words they breathed.

After a while he got completely lost in the pages, almost as lost as he was in the woods. He had to set down the book however, when the sun started to go down. The seasons were changing so it grew dark earlier.

"Shit," he mumbled getting up, still clutching the book tightly.

"Swearing is real fuckin' rude, you know," a voice said behind him, a voice laced with something he couldn't put a name to.

He turned around to see a boy bundled up in clothes just like he was. He had curly, dark hair that looked a little frozen due to the immense amount of gel in it. Its shiny texture almost made Kurt say something about fitting your hair to the weather or something along those lines, but he kept his mouth shut and tried not to look at it. He looked into his eyes instead—it was even worse. They looked golden, like someone took a gold bar, mixed it with autumn leaves, then melted them together.

"My oak, have you seen it?" the boy said, not meeting Kurt's eyes. "It's supposed to be right around here." The boy was mumbling now, reminding him of his elderly grandfather who always lost his dentures.

The boy in front of him, though, he had teeth. And lips. Full, rosy, pink lips, swollen from the chilly weather. Lips from which Kurt could not pull his gaze.

Kurt coughed; it halted the other boy's mumbling for a moment.

"Is that it?" Kurt asked pointing to the stump with his frozen pink-looking finger which shook slightly. He was sort of cold, but he was nervous, too.

"Fucking hell," the person said plopping down on the stump. "I knew this was the stump, you know, I just wanted to see if you did." He ran a hand down his scarf and continued talking, "I knew that this was my oak ever since I saw you sitting on it, I just asked in case you'd done something to it. I'm sort of like a police dog when it comes to spotting a liar." He grinned.

Kurt wasn't sure what to think at the moment. He was sitting on the stump as if it were nothing seconds ago, and then this boy came crashing in, acting like it were his lifeline or something. It made him feel bad. "I wouldn't touch it like that, I was actually waiting—"

"We should go to City Hall and complain!" the boy said, snapping up from the stump with all kinds of excitement; it radiated off of his body and made its way to Kurt. Yes, he was excited too.

Kurt smiled a little, a small, pleasant, smile and tilted his head. "Why should I come?" he asked quietly, looking at the boy.

He turned completely towards Kurt then, "You did this all by yourself, you came here. You're stuck with me. Why were you here anyway?" he asked. "I'm Blaine, by the way."

Kurt took his hand from his pocket to shake Blaine's, "I'm Kurt," he said, taking his hand and shaking it. Blaine looked a little surprised at first, but he just grinned and shook back. When their hands broke contact, Kurt continued speaking, "I just came because of this no—"

"It's getting dark," Blaine said looking up at the sky. "Sorry, we should get going if we want to make it to City Hall."

Kurt just nodded, at least he wasn't being left behind in the forest, alone in the dark. He started to walk, clutching his book and walking slowly.

"We've got to hurry," Blaine said looking around. He grabbed Kurt's hand again, but this time not to shake. He squeezed his hand once. "Follow me, I know a short cut," he whispered with a coy smile before running off through the trees, his hand still clasping Kurt's tightly, pulling him after him.

Kurt was completely and utterly confused, but it was in a good way, rather than any other.  
—-

Kurt had never been inside City Hall before. It was incredibly small and it matched its little city. He followed Blaine quietly inside. It was very clean-looking, Kurt barely had time to survey its tacky wallpaper before Blaine marched up to the front desk. He had his hands clenched so hard that Kurt could see his knuckles from where he was standing.

"Blaine," the middle aged secretary said smoothly, his voice oddly intimidating. "Shouldn't you be in Westerville?"

Blaine ignored him, but Kurt didn't. Why would Blaine be in Lima if he lived all the way in Westerville? Most of all, how did the secretary of Lima's City Hall know Blaine personally? Kurt stood back, something didn't feel right.

"What's happening in the woods?" Blaine asked, his voice seemed laced with hate and everything in between. Kurt couldn't pin point it. Watching the other man, whose gold nameplate on his desk said Cooper Anderson, Kurt stayed back, unsure and awkward. He looked at the carpeting, trying not to get on any sides because he himself didn't really understand. He couldn't back Blaine up because there really wasn't any way to know whether he should or not.

"I don't understand," the other man –Cooper–said, his voice a little too soft, "little brother."

Kurt's eyes shot up just as Blaine was diving over the desk, his fists flying like rockets. Kurt gasped and backed up. He was already against the wall so he simply pressed his back against it. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Blaine started screaming about his tree and the environment and how Cooper seemed to be taking a piss on it. Kurt caught Blaine saying the word dad. That made the comment Cooper said before about Blaine being his little brother make sense. It wasn't that he had thought the other man had been lying, but it just seemed to be some sort of coincidence, too much of one.

The note.  
The fallen tree.  
Blaine.  
Cooper.

Kurt 's attention shot back to Blaine when he noticed his brother was trying to shove him off. Two other men walked in. They looked pretty mellow as they grabbed Blaine from his brother and pulled him out the front door by his arms. "Oh, yeah," Blaine said, angrily, "just throw me out and let Mr. Tree killer stay."

Even though he was in deep trouble, or at least, what looked like to be deep trouble, he caught Kurt's eyes and smiled mischievously as he passed.

Kurt quickly looked back at Cooper, who had a forming bruise under his right eye. He tried not to look at it, so he looked down at the floor again as he mumbled a quick 'sorry sir' and quickly left behind Blaine and the other guys.

The men shoved Blaine out the door and it just made him grunt in annoyance. "Sorry about that, Kurt," Blaine said once they left them in front of the door. They walked down the steps together.

"It's alright, it was sort of intense." Kurt smiled.

Blaine straightened his scarf. Kurt could just barely notice his bruised knuckles and they looked like they hurt a lot. Kurt didn't say anything, though. He wasn't quite sure why. He waited for Blaine to talk again; he wanted something else to make this whole thing not seem like some kind of mistake.

He watched the trees as they lost their leaves, they blew into the shadows that the last bit of sun spit out.

"I should get going," Blaine said sadly. "It was nice to meet you, Kurt. I hope this happens again. Minus the—everything, really."

Kurt smiled. "Sure, me too," he said a little too hopefully. "It was a pleasure, even with all the…fighting."

Blaine laughed a bit. "See you around, Kurt," he said before turning around.

Kurt turned the other way then, holding onto his book, as another gust of wind cut through him like a knife. He didn't want to lose the book after the kind of day he had had, it would be a waste after all he had gone through. He sucked in a deep breath and continued walking. He took about fifteen stupid steps before he remembered something completely important.

"Blaine!" Kurt yelled, turning around, his heart hammering once again. "Blaine! Wait up!"

When he didn't hear him, Kurt ran towards the curly haired boy. He almost slipped on some frost, but he caught himself. When he reached Blaine, he poked him on the shoulder. "Blaine?" he whispered quietly.

Blaine turned around with a smile. "Yeah?" he said, his dark eyebrow pointing upwards in wonder.

Kurt scrambled for the note; he had forgotten to ask Blaine about it. He had nothing to lose, asking about it, just Blaine telling him he hadn't written it. It wouldn't be bad. When his frozen fingers finally grasped the note he held it out for Blaine. "Did you write this? It's the reason I was in the woods."

Blaine snatched the note from his hands, making Kurt flinch back. The movement was quick, as if he were afraid someone else would grab the note first. Kurt watched him as he read it slowly. When he finished, he looked up at Kurt with beautiful, watery eyes. Tears were drowning the gold in them.

His lips turned upwards as he spoke so very quietly, "You found me."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, wow I shot this one out quickly. Thanks for reading, everyone! And of course, thanks to Jamie as always.

I don't own glee, only the poems, really.

Same warnings apply

* * *

Kurt sat in the Lima Bean for the third time that week sipping coffee by himself. It was relaxing, it was true, but still he wished it hadn't come to this. He was waiting patiently for something to happen—for anything to happen. He was growing impatient and maybe a little sad as the days and hours slipped through his fingers.

Blaine had asked him to name a coffee shop before he had left in a fluster. Kurt still remembered the way his cold cheeks had turned even redder as he had waited for Kurt to answer. He spat out a random coffee shop that wasn't too far from home: It was the Lima Bean. It was a crossroad between Westerville and Lima, so it was close to both of them no matter which way one looked at it.

Why, then, wasn't he there?

Kurt twisted a thin straw into the steaming top of his coffee. He looked around quickly before he brought the straw to his lips and took a small sip. The hot liquid burnt the top of his mouth and it took everything he had in him to maintain his composure. By the time his mouth was back to normal, his eyes were watering and he was breathing out so much that it almost made him dizzy.

He groaned and leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. He was at his usual seat, the one he'd sat at the past few days. He was pretty used to what he saw out the window at this point. He saw leaves and a sidewalk, people with their coats buttoned up to their chins and about five dogs. Every. Time. There must have been something about the Lima Bean that attracted dog walkers.

Maybe it was all the dogs that made him suddenly realize that Blaine might not be coming. He felt like a dog at that moment, if he was being honest; dogs wait for their owners every day with their tail wagging and a morphed dog grin. Maybe a couple of days earlier, Kurt had felt exactly like that. Now though, his tail had stopped wagging and he didn't have a stupid grin attached to his face. He was disappointed above all.

When he looked away from the window he sighed and sat his hand on the table near his coffee. When his hand came back with some mystery liquid on it, he cursed and pushed himself out of his chair. Now the people at the Lima Bean couldn't even clean their tables properly. It irritated him to no end, because he didn't even have to be here. He felt brainless waiting here with so much hope that he thought he might explode.

After months of having friends solely in glee club, he had thought he'd finally made one all on his own. He frowned and sucked in a deep breath of coffee-inhabited air and walked into the bathroom to wash his hands.

The bathrooms were clean at least, and empty. He fixed his hair in the mirror while he was in there, too. It wasn't really in need of fixing, but it was a habit of his when he was upset.

When he made his way back to his little table where his cup was waiting for him he sat down again and looked back out the window.

Only this time there was something there. It was yellow and smudged with blue ink as if it had been held in someone's sweaty hand for too long. He tilted his head and looked quickly around. Nobody looked like they had just put it there. Everyone was doing their own thing.

Kurt grabbed the sticky note, sighing. It had taken him long enough.

_I think your coffee is a little bit too hot,_  
_you should really wait and not drink it on the spot,_  
_it made me laugh, I hope you know,_  
_that's not the point, I have a spot you need to go_  
_a place where shoppers shop ,_  
_and where prices are on top (not really),_  
_go there, to the middle of the tee,_  
_just come find me._

_P.S. Sorry about the wait, I'll tell you more _  
_hurry up, it's not like it's some chore._

Kurt rolled his eyes at that. He grabbed his coffee and walked out of the shop. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't taken his time. Blaine needed to wait a little bit, just like he had.

* * *

Kurt drove there slowly, not too slowly, but slow enough that Blaine would probably have to grow a little, tiny bit impatient. He found a parking spot quickly and luckily, he didn't even have to battle for it. His navigator was pretty intimidating.

Now the tee, that was the T shape in the middle of the mall. He knew that all too well. He usually sat at one of the benches when his arms were tired from holding his many bags when he went shopping. He'd usually sit there with Mercedes or even Rachel and sip a smoothie.

Kurt made his way there, looking in the shop windows as he went. He tried to resist the urge to walk in and buy something because the signs for fall sales were sticking out at him in all their neon glory.

Despite all that, he made it to the tee in about five minutes, it took seconds to find his curly haired friend. Could he call him that? A friend?

He did anyway.

He walked up to Blaine who was laying on bench in a dark blue blazer, his hair was even flatter than before. He had his eyes shut for the moment. Kurt couldn't understand how he could look so peaceful with people running around him. Kurt watched him for a moment; he watched the way his tie was loosened as if he had given it a few good yanks and his shirt was unbuttoned. He looked extremely comfortable, yet not comfortable at all.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine said, his eyes still shut, lips turned upwards.

He didn't give Kurt time to reply, he twisted his legs around the bench so that they were on the tiled floor. He leaned back and stretched his feet across the ground, it looked like he would not care if he tripped someone up. He patted a vacant part of the bench and motioned for Kurt to sit down.

When Kurt sat down and looked at Blaine, a tiny gasp escaped his lips. He would know a crappy concealer job anywhere and Blaine, right now, was sporting one of the worst he'd seen since the girl in his second period French class. That wasn't the point: Blaine was covering a black eye.

He hardly had time to stop himself before he lightly grabbed the side of Blaine's face and turned it slowly to his own.

"What happened?" he asked softly so that he didn't bring any attention to them. He let his hand go before people started eyeing the two of them funnily.

Blaine just laughed. "Funny, my friends at school didn't even notice." He leaned in closer, facing him completely. "I find that fascinating—" His eyes flickered to Kurt's cup suddenly "what's in that cup?" he asked, seeming incredibly interested in his coffee.

Kurt gave him one of his bitch stares, he wasn't sure why, but it felt right. He looked at his cup, then back at Blaine, who still looked incredibly interested in it.

"It's a nonfat mocha." As soon as those words left his lips Blaine started laughing. It wasn't a loud laugh that made him feel bad, it was easy and soft.

"That's very Kurt-like," he said with a smile.

His bitch stare was back again when he replied, "What do you mean Kurt-like?"

Blaine sat back down so that his back was against the bench. He twisted his blazer clad arms and clasped them behind his head. It made him look really relaxed, Kurt thought. He flicked his eyes to Kurt, clearly loving how he was baiting him along, making him lean closer in anticipation. He grinned and looked over at Kurt, his dark eyebrows rising with his lips, as if there was a string attached to the both of them.

"There's something about you, Kurt," he said very quietly. "It's like a signature on paper—nothing is like it." He shut his eyes for a moment, still smiling. "I don't have a signature, you know, but you do." He lifted his chin towards Kurt.

Kurt shrugged, holding his cup in his hands, it warmed them slightly, which didn't help because his palms were sort of sweaty. He pursed his lips and shrugged again. "I don't know, Blaine. I think you've got a signature. Who else would write those little poems everywhere?"

Blaine laughed again; it seemed he was always laughing at everything he said. "It's stupid. People do it all the time, on walls in the bathroom. They graffiti things on buildings with earth-killing spray paint. They do all sorts of things like that. I'm no different, only I write on sticky notes and to distinct people."

People, so he wrote them to others, too? Kurt didn't know what to think of that, so he changed the subject. "What happened to your face anyway?" he asked, his voice maybe a little loud, some people looked over. Kurt just leaned further into the wooden bench.

"Protesting with a few friends," Blaine said, snaking a hand up to his eye and rubbing in the concealer a bit more. "It may have sort of turned into a mosh." Kurt thought he was done, but Blaine snorted. "When you're as tall as I am, you do not want to get caught in a protest mosh pit. It can mean death, I'm sure. A forty year old cyclist named Kevin punched me in the face."

Kurt was laughing now; his hand went on reflex to cover his mouth. It was a habit of his. "How'd you get his name?"

"We're great friends now, he let me ride on his handlebars all the way home. It was great."

Kurt was laughing again. He couldn't believe what Blaine was saying, he'd never spoken to someone like this before. It was so new and exciting to learn about someone's life other than the people in the glee club or the stupid, emotional ones on facebook.

"You should come sometime and be my shield," he said wiggling his eyebrows at him.

"Would I still have a signature, then?" Kurt asked, glad he had a reason not to go, he'd never protest. All he could think of was dirt. "That's yours, mine's drinking coffee and reading notes that strangers leave me."

Blaine suddenly got up, his wrinkled clothes looking even more wrinkled as he stood. He held out a hand for Kurt and pulled him up. "That's why I like you, Kurt. You didn't change, just like you didn't change when I was talking to Cooper. You didn't pick my side and you didn't pick his. You're your very own signature, you've got freewill."

He grabbed his hand again and pulled him to the door leading out of the mall, it wasn't far away, just on the right side of them. When they reached outside Blaine let go of his hand and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Kurt watched as Blaine's features gradually turned as he breathed, but they stopped suddenly and he slapped a hand over his face.

Then his other reached up to Kurt's.

He flinched back at first ,then noticed that there was cool smoke floating in the air. Blaine was covering his mouth because he didn't want him to breathe in smoke and that had to be the single, oddest thing someone had ever done for him, though, probably one of the sweetest. He tried not to laugh into the palm of his hand.

"Sorry, Kurt, "Blaine said, incredibly loudly. " I don't want harmful toxins partying in your lungs."

He shot the smoker a dirty look, egging him on completely. When the smoker opened his mouth to speak, Kurt twisted away from Blaine's hand, trying not to laugh again, and pushed him into the parking lot, following close behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys, sorry for the wait, life just always be getting in the way. Special thanks to Jamie as usual for reading everything over for me. Thanks to you guys too for hanging in there.

I don't own glee or anything.  
Enjoy

* * *

"Why'd they take my tree, Kurt?" He heard twigs breaking and harsh, quick breathing on the other end. It wasn't scary, it was sad, in a melodic way.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, squinting at his phone screen. It was almost two in the morning and he really hadn't been expecting the call. Definitely not from Blaine. "How did you get my number?" he said, still squinting, blinded completely by the light of his phone. He fumbled into settings and dimmed the screen, then laid back down against his pillows, as he waited for a reply.

"We're dug deep into the common era, Kurt," Blaine said distantly, his breathing sounding more normal now. "We've got Facebook, Twitter, common denominators. Facebook, mostly. You should boost your privacy settings, there are creeps out there."

"Oh," Kurt said, mentally reminding himself to change his settings on Facebook when he got the chance. "Are you outside?" he asked, staring off into the darkness of his room.

"I'm at an ugly stump that held more life than your great grandfather's grandfather—only to die at the cruel hands of man."

"Oh, Blaine, what are you doing out there?" Kurt asked, now looking out the slit of his basement window. "Aren't you cold?"

"No. I just miss my tree."

Kurt sighed, wanting to tell Blaine to forget about his damn tree and get inside. It was late November, it had to be thirty or less degrees out there.

Kurt stood up. "Blaine, I need you to listen very carefully: how long have you been laying there?"

"Hours, half hours, they're all the same, aren't they?"

Kurt rose an eyebrow, he didn't like the sound of that. Blaine seemed incredibly out of it, and not in the out of this world way he usually was. It scared Kurt. Blaine was a mere stranger, but Kurt couldn't just let this mere stranger hurt himself. Especially someone he had grown to like so much.

Maybe it was because of his signature and its ever-looping spirals, or maybe it was just his heart, the two seemed to be very similar lately. He got up and made his way over to the clothes he'd worn earlier that day. The Giver slid slowly off of his bed and hit the floor behind him with a soft thump, he ignored it for the moment and started gathering the clothes to slip back on."I'll be there soon, don't move."

"No Kurt, please," Blaine begged, sucking in a deep breath, sounding like someone blowing up a balloon.

"I'm coming."

* * *

Kurt could hardly see, the light on his phone flashed out of the back of its screen. He had a flashlight app, but it didn't shine bright enough. It worked well, but the woods were so vast, the light couldn't touch everything. He felt so very alone and every time he took a step forward, he almost wanted to take one back. He'd seen slasher flicks with Finn, he's never liked them. Vampires always scared him the most. He was sure there were no vampires in Lima, but still, every time he stepped on a branch, he could almost swear it was someone else behind him.

If someone had told Kurt a week earlier that he would be searching through the woods for some sort of an extravagant hippie, he'd have laughed in their face. He would have probably strutted away, too. Now though, it was the only thing he could see himself doing. Blaine, with his beautiful poems that squeezed his heart in just the right way. Blaine, who spoke like all the most brilliant writers he had ever read combined.

Blaine, who was lost and Kurt knew now that as long as Blaine was lost, he would do all he could to find him again.

In the mist of thinking, Kurt managed to trip over a branch. He squeaked and fell forward, onto his hands and knees, the cold ground scraping his palms. Tiny pieces of grit stuck to his skin like painful stickers. It was like stepping on multiple tacks. He sucked in his breath and picked them out quickly, abandoning his phone, laying it down in the grass. The light was pointing upwards now at a ghostly angle. It turned the branches of the nearby trees around him into arm-like shadows.

"Angel. An angel in hell," a voice mumbled to the side of him.

Kurt grabbed his phone quickly and forgot about the dirt that poked at his hands. He scrambled up and flashed his phone around him to see where the voice was coming from.

He stopped scanning the open woods when the light of his phone reached a stump. It wasn't just any stump though, it was _the_ stump. In front of the stump was a battered ball of navy and red. Kurt stumbled over to it and fell to his knees, pointing the phone at the shape.

"Blaine, are you alright?" Kurt asked, his voice shaking like the tree branches above.

Blaine eyes were wide under the light of his phone, combined with the dim spark of light that came from the moon. His eyes which usually shone a gold color seemed to vanish, appearing just dark brown. He looked frightened.

His clothes were crumpled, not in the cute, schoolboy way they had a few days previously when Kurt had met Blaine at the mall. Now, he looked like a high school mess.

"Of course I am," Blaine said, his mouth twitching. "Are you an angel of death? Are you going to take me away now?"

Kurt rose an eyebrow, Blaine didn't sound good, but he really wasn't sure why. Blaine didn't seem intoxicated, or even high on something. He seemed perfectly fine, except for the fact that he was freezing cold in his thin blazer.

"Blaine?" Kurt said.

"Kurt?" Blaine said, shooting up like a Jack In The Box. "I told you not to come. Why are you here?" he said, bringing his knees up to his chest and pushing himself against the oak's stump. "Why?" he asked repeating himself in a hushed, whispered voice.

"I know you didn't want me to come, but it's not safe out here at night," Kurt said, bringing a hand to Blaine's shoulder. He almost thought he felt Blaine lean into the touch for a second, but he shuffled away just as quickly.

"I've done this before. Hell, the forest is my home. I'm the Tarzan of this jungle waiting for Jane." He sighed and rubbed his palm over his pants. "I guess you're my Jane, in a way." His eyes flickered up to Kurt who was staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted, "I mean that in the nicest of ways, of course."

Kurt was about to talk about to protest that he wasn't some girl from a stupid Disney movie, but Blaine seemed to wilt. He dug his hands into his eyes. When he brought his hands back down, they were shaking. "Fuck," Blaine whispered to the air.

"Why are you here though, Blaine? Why aren't you home and in bed?" Kurt asked, sitting down on the ground, cringing at the thought of all the dirt he was sitting on. He wrapped his coat around himself as a gust of wind blew by.

"I hate my family," Blaine mumbled, his eyes closed. "Not in the angsty teenage way either. I hate them like you hate people who walk down the street."

Kurt sighed. "Can you at least come home with me? Just to stay warm? I need to get home and I'm not going to just leave you here. You're clearly not well," he said noticing Blaine's shaking limbs yet again.

"Well, as in insane?" Blaine asked quietly, eyes still shut. "Or well as in sick—I don't even care, really. I think I'm both to be honest."

Kurt got up and brushed off his pants. "Lets get you home, come on."

Blaine's eye peeked open for a second, before they closed once more. "So you're pulling me out of hell, angel?"

Kurt sighed and tried his best to pull a semi-conscious Blaine out of the woods. Kurt was stronger than he looked, but pulling someone out of the unpredictable woods took a lot of effort. By the time he had pulled Blaine out, he was breathing heavily and his back was aching. He dug his keys out of his pocket and clicked the unlock button so that he didn't have to let Blaine go.

He opened the door and lifted Blaine up to the passenger's seat, then buckled him in tightly. Blaine mumbled something about the good of carpooling and that made Kurt smile a little. He was still scared, though.

What was wrong with Blaine?

Where had the smart, wonderful boy he had met in the woods disappeared to?

* * *

Sneaking through the Hummel/Hudson home was one of the hardest things Kurt had ever done. He had never been able to understand why Finn was always able to do it so easily. Maybe it was because he didn't have to drag a half-awake school boy through his living room. Luckily, once Blaine had reached the kitchen, something made him snap awake. With a groan he spun out of Kurt's grip and stumbled into the closest counter, his hands gripping the corners like someone in pain. His knuckles showed white, not the normal ashy-looking pink that they usually were.

Kurt sighed and sat on one of the stools next to where Blaine was leaning. He tilted his head a little lower to meet Blaine's eyes and they looked like hazel coals that had been set on fire, flecked with amber and everything in between. It was breath taking, but it shouldn't have been. Kurt saw pain, hell and he felt it, too.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered softly, "do you want to talk about it?"

He wanted to listen, he wanted to listen to everything that Blaine had to say. He wanted Blaine's story to unfold and fall into his fingers so that he could re-arrange the words and try to make his eyes not look so lost.

"I feel like I'm drowning," Blaine stated, his eyelashes fluttering as he sucked in a deep breath. Dark, full eyelashes clouded over the bruise from a few days earlier, it looked like a painting. The blue and black, on the color of his skin, it was a painter's pallet, colors swirling into each other, engulfing each other and spitting them back out. "There's all this pain, all these fingers picking the world apart. The sneers on the faces that watch the world burn. So much fire and chaos, I drown. I drown in the flames."

Kurt sat back, as if his words held a force that rocked right through his bones. "Blaine," Kurt pleaded, his voice maybe a little too high. "That's not all that's bothering you right now, I can help. Please, just tell me what's really wrong so that I can help you."

Blaine's fingers uncurled themselves from the counter and fell to his sides. He stood up, wobbling slightly. He looked up through his dark lashes and sighed. "I don't think you can, Kurt," Blaine said wrapping his arms around himself.

Kurt stood up, making his way towards Blaine. It was only a few steps, but for Kurt, it felt like miles. When he reached Blaine, he wrapped his arms around him, protectively pulling the other boy in and he held on tight. Blaine's arms didn't wrap around Kurt. He was still holding onto himself as if he felt like his body parts were going to start floating away. He did, however, lean his head on Kurt's shoulder.

They stood like that for a while, Kurt wasn't sure how long. He watched the clock on the microwave, but he didn't see any numbers. If a comet had hit outside of his house at that very second, he wasn't convinced that even that would have made him let go of Blaine.

"There is something you could do," Blaine said after a while, his mouth moving against the fabric of Kurt's shirt. "You could kiss me."

Blaine broke out of Kurt's arms then, making him suddenly feel cold.

"You heard me," Blaine whispered, moving in close again. He wrapped his arms around Kurt and pulled him close. "Kiss me."

Kurt closed his eyes as Blaine pulled himself in closer, he felt himself melting into the other boy.

And Kurt did, he kissed Blaine.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. He kept them loosely by his side as his mind spun and his heart thumped rapidly in his chest. He could feel Blaine's lips curving up into a small smile against his own and then he felt himself being twisted around and Blaine pressed him back against the counter, then slipped his arms down to catch Kurt's hands in each of his own. He lifted Kurt's arms and positioned them to circle his neck and Kurt gasped quietly when Blaine's arms encompassed his waist. He'd never felt like this before, never had anyone so close and it felt like nothing he had ever experienced. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't want to pull away, didn't ever want to stop kissing this wonderful, strange, beautiful boy, but eventually, unfortunately, Blaine broke their kiss.

Kurt's eyes immediately opened, their arms were still connected. When he met Blaine's eyes, he wasn't sure what he was looking for, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he definitely did not expect to see Blaine crying, but that was exactly what he was doing.

"I have a boyfriend," he whispered, letting a tear fall.

Kurt could almost feel his heart breaking. He let his arms fall down to his sides. He felt angry all of a sudden, he wanted to yell at Blaine. He had just allowed himself to cheat on someone! That wasn't fair, it wasn't right—

Blaine pressed their bodies together again, not for a kiss this time, but for another hug. A deep sob escaped Blaine's mouth as he held onto Kurt, who looked down at his empty hands, cursing at them.

Blaine repeated that phrase over and over again against him.

I have a boyfriend  
I have a boyfriend  
I have a boyfriend

And the more he said it, the more it hurt.


End file.
